


Seven's Company

by longleggedgit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hyoutei regulars, led by Oshitari, decide to crash a very private party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven's Company

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hyouteiexchange.livejournal.com/profile)[**hyouteiexchange**](http://hyouteiexchange.livejournal.com/) 2008\. Thanks so much to [](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/)**reallycorking** for looking this over for me! ♥

"Keigo," Oshitari says smoothly, flipping open his phone before it has the chance to ring twice. From his position face-down and seemingly unconscious on the bed, Jirou makes a muffled, happy sort of noise. At least, Oshitari thinks that's one of his happy noises. "When are you picking us up?"

From the hesitation on the other end, Oshitari knows immediately that something's wrong. "I –" Keigo begins.

"Don't tell me." Oshitari pinches the bridge of his nose and doesn't look over his shoulder as Jirou begins to stir himself upright. "Another social event for the Atobe family's heir to make an appearance at?"

"I'm sorry." Atobe clears his throat. "Please tell everyone else I'm sorry as well."

Oshitari looks at Jirou, who is watching him inquisitively while rubbing sleep from his eyes, and takes a moment to smile his way before replying. "Don't worry about it," he says automatically. "We'll see you on Monday, Keigo."

Oshitari snaps his phone shut and frowns at it, trying not to let it worsen his mood that Atobe's contact picture lingers on the display for a few seconds before disappearing entirely. It's one of Oshitari's favorite snapshots, captured in an unsuspecting moment the morning after one of their team victory parties. The sight of Atobe's scowl and prominent cowlick rarely fails to put a grin on Oshitari's face, and has the bonus appeal of sending Atobe into a frenzy trying to steal the phone and delete it.

"Yuushi?" Jirou interrupts Oshitari's train of thought with a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Is he coming?"

Steeling himself for the look of disappointment he knows is coming, Oshitari turns around and tries to put on an air of casual unconcern.

"It seems he's been tied up with another engagement," he says, tone apologetic. No amount of steeling, Oshitari thinks with a sigh, can ever prepare him for the way Jirou's face falls.

"Oh," Jirou says, furrowing his brow. "Again?"

At Oshitari's nod, Jirou flops back on the bed and sighs miserably. "I wish Kei-chan was allowed to be a kid once in a while."

Privately agreeing, Oshitari takes a seat next to Jirou and ruffles his hair.

"He said perhaps next weekend," Oshitari says without much enthusiasm.

"That's what he said last time." Jirou is obviously transitioning fast into one of two territories – pouting or falling asleep for the next twelve hours – so Oshitari hastens to provide some distraction.

"Why don't you call Kabaji," he suggests. Jirou nods glumly and fishes his phone out of his pocket, becoming much more awake when Oshitari adds, "Tell him to meet at my house instead of the movie theater."

"Your house?" Jirou repeats. "Why?"

Flipping open his own phone, Oshitari selects Gakuto's name from his list of contacts, unable to hold back a grin at Jirou's questioning gaze. "I think we can find better things to do with our evening than seeing a movie, don't you?"

Jirou lifts his phone to his ear and shrugs. "I guess."

Oshitari chuckles and lifts his own phone, making a mental note to either text Shishido or have Jirou call him. He hates being hung up on.

"Oh, and Jirou," Oshitari says, before Gakuto picks up. "Ask him if he knows where Atobe's little social event is taking place tonight."

It's as if the clouds have parted and a beam of light starts shining down directly on Jirou's face. "Okay!" he agrees, laughing as Oshitari reaches over to muss his hair once more.

The evening should certainly prove more memorable than any slasher flick, Oshitari thinks, as pleasurable as it often is to listen to Atobe and Jirou's mingled shrieks.

~

Forty-five minutes later, the entire Hyoutei regulars team sans Atobe is crammed into Oshitari's bedroom, attempting to cram _themselves_ into acceptable formal attire, and Oshitari is beginning to wonder if he's really such a genius after all.

"No," Oshitari says, staring in unconcealed horror at Gakuto's choice of undershirt, "fuchsia is abso _lutely_ not acceptable. We're going to a dinner party, not a Kat-Tun concert."

Gakuto scowls and plants his hands on his hips. "Whatever," he sniffs. "I'll wear what I want." Then, eyeing Oshitari's own immaculate ensemble, "Besides, who are you to talk? Yours has _ruffles._ "

"It's a _cravat_ ," Oshitari says in exasperation – it seems like he's explained this a dozen times already – but before he can pursue the argument further, he hears the sounds of a growing conflict in the connected bathroom and whirls around.

"I just think it would look better if you maybe, I don't know, _combed_ it a bit," Ootori says, laying a hesitant hand on Shishido's bangs and trying to smooth them out.

Shishido jerks his head away and gives Ootori a scathing look. "Why?" he snarls. "I'm not a freaking girl."

"Combs aren't reserved solely for the fairer sex, Shishido," Oshitari says from the doorway. Shishido scowls at him in the mirror and flicks him off. Ootori straightens his slightly wrinkled tie, clears his throat and frowns at the both of them.

"Maybe just a little hair gel –" he tries again, but Shishido cuts him off with another glare and a few choice curses.

"Yuuushi," Jirou whines, popping up from out of nowhere and tugging on Oshitari's coattails. Oshitari turns around again, privately glad to be provided a distraction from Shishido's foul mood, and Jirou lifts his hands, barely visible because of the length of his jacket sleeves. "It's too long," he says. "Also, Hiyoshi says he doesn't wear suits, and Kabaji's got a tear in his."

Oshitari takes a very deep breath and briefly massages his temples. He wonders if it's too late to just call the whole thing off, but decides, glancing at the clock – less than an hour until Atobe's party – that the only thing worse than going at this point would be not going. After all, everyone would probably insist on staying at his house overnight otherwise.

"Go find the maid, Jirou," Oshitari says with renewed purpose. He is absolutely resolved to see this plan through. "Ask her to assist you and Kabaji with some last-minute tailoring." Oshitari smoothes out his jacket, cutting his eyes to the corner of the room where Hiyoshi is apparently trying to blend in with the bedspread. "I'll take care of Hiyoshi."

Jirou nods and obediently hurries off to take Kabaji by the hand and lead him out of the room. Hiyoshi, meanwhile, looks up with in mingled resentment and fear as Oshitari approaches.

"I don't wear suits," he says before Oshitari can even open his mouth.

"Mm, so I hear." Oshitari crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks down his nose at Hiyoshi, feeling remarkably like a parent whose child is throwing a tantrum. "Is it simply because you enjoy being difficult, I wonder, or is there some actual principle behind the matter?"

Hiyoshi crosses his arms as well, refusing to meet Oshitari's gaze. "This is stupid," he says in lieu of an answer. "I don't know why we're going anyway."

Hiyoshi's discontent seems so genuine and passionate that Oshitari finds himself somewhat surprised. "Do you really object to parties so much, Hiyoshi? You could always go home and spend the evening alone, if you prefer."

"You know what I mean," Hiyoshi snaps. His voice is raised enough that Shishido and Ootori, still bickering in the bathroom, fall silent, and Gakuto stares unashamedly. "I know you're doing all this out of some dumb loyalty to Atobe, but I'm sick of it. If anyone missed tennis practice as often as he flaked out on us, we'd be off the team."

By this point, Shisido and Ootori are openly staring, too. Everyone seems to be waiting with bated breath for Oshitari's response – more likely than not, they've been thinking along the same lines as Hiyoshi for some time now. If he's being entirely honest with himself, so has Oshitari.

"No one is forcing you to do this," Oshitari says slowly. He is careful to stay attentive to Hiyoshi and Hiyoshi only, rather than addressing the entire team as if giving a lecture. "Atobe has certain – obligations he has to see to in his family life. If you think anyone regrets this more than Atobe himself, you're quite mistaken."

Oshitari is somewhat surprised by his own words – he can't be sure where they're coming from – but he finds himself speaking with growing confidence. "Atobe's devotion to the regulars is his way of expressing devotion to his friends. Maybe it's a little . . . frustrating for the rest of us at times, but we would do well to remember that we have luxuries not available to him."

 _Like the luxury of being a kid once in a while_ , Oshitari thinks, wishing Jirou and Kabaji were here to back him up.

"So," Oshitari fumbles, feeling suddenly awkward now that the entire room is riveted on him. "If you don't want to be here, there's still time to catch a train to the movie theater. Otherwise, put on a damn suit." Catching Shishido's eye, Oshitari boldly adds, "And for the love of God, please comb your hair."

For a moment, it seems as if everyone is going to remain frozen in place for the rest of the night. Then, to Oshitari's immense relief, Shishido grumbles his way back into the bathroom, picks up a comb off the countertop, and starts to attack his hair. Ootori beams and goes to help him, and the spell is broken. Even Hiyoshi gets up and reluctantly makes his way to Oshitari's closet, reaching for the first suit he sees.

"Is this one okay?" he mutters. Oshitari swallows down a proud smile and moves closer to examine Hiyoshi's selection.

"I would go for something in a more complimentary shade to your hair color," he advises gravely. Picking a rich brown suit out of the closet and taking the blue one from Hiyoshi's hands, he points him toward the full-length mirror on the adjacent wall. "Try that one instead." And, because he can't quite resist, "It's quite small on me, so it should be a decent fit."

Hiyoshi huffs and growls but stomps off toward the mirror anyway, and Oshitari feels accomplished just to have held in his laughter.

"We're ready!" Jirou announces as he and Kabaji re-enter, calling Oshitari's attention away from Hiyoshi.

The rest of the regulars are assembled almost as if awaiting inspection, and Oshitari has to admit, they don't look half bad. Jirou's traditional blue suit looks much better now that he's not drowning in it; Kabaji's shows no sign of tear and is a beige rather becoming to his complexion; Gakuto, despite his bizarre choice of color combination, looks quite sleek and primped; Ootori, in a suit of attractive silver-gray, is clearly no stranger to formal occasions; and even Shishido, in a slightly rumpled but nonetheless appropriate tan suit, seems to have wetted and patted down his hair in grudging surrender.

"Good," Oshitari says, taking a moment to smile at them each in turn. "I'll have a car ready in," – he quickly checks Hiyoshi's progress as he struggles with the buttons of his jacket – "fifteen minutes or so."

"Yoshi!" Jirou cheers, latching onto Kabaji's arm and (Oshitari notices with a grimace) wrinkling both their jackets.

Gakuto slips out of line to creep up behind Hiyoshi and impede his progress. "Maybe we should find you a nice _cravat_ like Yuushi's," he says smugly.

Oshitari ignores him, leaving Hiyoshi to voice his outrage at the jab, and sets about some last-minute adjustments to his hair and ensemble. This will be a night to remember, he thinks, smirking to himself. At the sound of a crash over by the mirror – Hiyoshi appears to have thrown Gakuto down on the floor in an attempt to wrestle him – the smirk fades. Oshitari sighs and nods at Kabaji to break them up.

A night to remember, indeed. For better or for worse.

~

The first thought Oshitari has, after talking his way into the invitation-only party without an invitation and then proceeding to talk in his six accompanying friends, is that some women are far too easy to charm. The second thought he has is something along the lines of _Dear God, we are never going to make it out of here alive._

To call the event "formal" would be the rough equivalent of describing Shishido as stand-offish: sure, it's technically true, but in the end it doesn't even begin to skim the surface.

"Don't touch _anything_ ," Oshitari hisses, looking directly at Gakuto, who is already gravitating toward a particularly elaborate flower arrangement. They've all been to Atobe's manor innumerable times, but somehow his family has managed to fill the place with even more expensive-looking decorations than usual in light of the occasion.

"Do we even know what this party is for?" Shishido asks. Everyone looks at Kabaji, who shakes his head negative.

"It doesn't matter," Oshitari says. "Just behave yourselves and no one will suspect a thing."

But the second he and the other regulars have passed through the main entryway and into the vast, jam-packed dining room, Oshitari wishes he could swallow his words and slink quietly out the back entrance.

There must be at least a hundred guests present, all of whom are seated at a long table with their attention fixed on a podium at the front of the room. For the time being, at least, no one so much as glances toward the seven newcomers in the doorway, but this is only, Oshitari realizes with a slightly sick feeling, because Atobe's father is in the middle of a speech. Atobe himself is standing by his father's side, smiling the polite, winning smile Oshitari has only seen him use with opposing team captains and teachers he has a particular disdain for.

"Over here," Oshitari whispers, jerking his head toward a table in the back of the room with an array of desserts spread out over it. They move awkwardly along the perimeters of the walls, Oshitari taking care to nod calmly and politely at any wait staff or guests who happen to look their way. For the most part, no one spares them more than a moment's attention, and once they make it to the table, Oshitari starts to feel marginally less conspicuous. At least here there are six-foot-tall flower arrangements and towering cakes to hide behind.

". . . A company which has only grown in power and scope over the past ten years," Atobe's father is saying, one hand clasped tightly on Atobe's shoulder. Oshitari thinks the grip looks a little vice-like. He's so distracted with studying Atobe's face that he only catches bits and pieces of the speech; it doesn't help that Atobe's father's voice makes everything sound almost painfully dull. How, he wonders with a frown, can Atobe stand it?

". . . Thanks entirely to our investors and supporters, such as yourselves," Atobe's father is saying when Oshitari hones back in. The statement is met with somewhat enthusiastic applause.

"Yuushi," Jirou says softly, stepping closer to Oshitari. "What's he talking about?"

"Nothing at all, as far as I can tell," Oshitari replies.

"Huh," Jirou says, clearly confused. "Does Kei-chan's dad own a business or something?"

Even Kabaji stares at Jirou for that one.

"You can't be serious," Shishido says, appalled, but he falls silent when Ootori suddenly shushes him.

"Which is why I am proud tonight," Atobe's father says in a booming voice, "to announce my son as the next president of Atobe, Inc."

The applause is a little more enthusiastic this time – there are even a few cheers, which Gakuto contributes to until Hiyoshi elbows him in the ribs.

"I don't get it," Jirou says. "How can he be president? He's only fourteen."

Oshitari doesn't answer – he feels quite frozen in place – but thankfully Ootori is there to step in.

"It's more of a formality than anything," Ootori explains. "A lot of business families announce the eldest son as inheritor sometime around high school age." He shrugs, obviously a little bemused himself. "I guess Atobe-san just figured his son was responsible enough to accept the title a little early."

Ootori's explanation makes Oshitari inexplicably angry, and he finds himself twisting a hand into the tablecloth behind him in an attempt to calm his nerves. As the applause dies down, Atobe's father steps aside to give Atobe access to the microphone, and Oshitari twists the tablecloth a little tighter.

"Oshitari," Ootori says, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "Be careful –"

Before Oshitari has a chance to ask what Ootori means, a crash sounds from behind them. Whirling around, Oshitari sees one of the expensive-looking flower vases toppled over on the table – thankfully not broken – with water and flowers gushing from its mouth. He releases his hold on the mangled tablecloth, feeling color rise to his cheeks. A waiter rushes over to set the vase upright again, giving Oshitari a dirty look even after he apologizes half a dozen times. When he turns around again, only a few of the guests seem to have taken notice. The rest remain intent on Atobe, who has gone impossibly pale and still. He is absolutely silent, apparently transfixed by the unexpected appearance of his regulars team at such a private function.

Atobe's father clears his throat, and just as quickly as the color drained from his face, Atobe has recovered.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for this honor," he says smoothly, bowing with incredible formality. Oshitari, feeling increasingly sick to his stomach, takes the opportunity to hurry out of the room. He doesn't wait to see if anyone follows, but naturally, all the other regulars are right behind him.

"Nice going," Gakuto snickers once they're safe and alone in the entryway again. "And you told _us_ to behave ourselves."

"Shut up," Oshitari groans, but there's no real bite to it. He still feels a little nauseated, and wishes the smell of catered food weren't quite so thick in the air.

Shishido looks like he's about to say something as well, but luckily for the both of them – Oshitari's not sure he could restrain himself in the face of one of Shishido's snide remarks – a round of loud applause from the dining room silences them all.

"Sounds like Kei-chan's speech is over!" Jirou says cheerily. Oshitari lifts an eyebrow at him, wondering if Jirou has even noticed that anything's gone wrong.

No sooner has the applause ended than the dining room doors are slammed open. Expecting a flood of guests, Oshitari is taken aback at the sight of Atobe alone storming toward them.

"Follow me," he snaps, not even slowing down on his path toward a winding staircase. A few of the regulars exchange looks, but Oshitari only straightens up and obeys wordlessly. He can feel everyone else fall into step behind him.

" _What_ ," Atobe says, the instant they're all assembled in a private drawing room on the second floor, "do you all think you're doing here."

It's clearly not a question he expects an answer for. "Do you have any idea," he continues, running a hand through his already mussed hair, "what you could have done? What you almost _did_?" He looks directly at Oshitari when he says this. Oshitari doesn't flinch or look away, but all he wants to do is disappear.

"We weren't trying to do anything bad," comes Jirou's voice, weak and almost surprised. He apparently wasn't expecting a lecture. "We just thought –"

"I sincerely doubt there was any _thinking_ involved at all." Atobe crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for anyone else to try and make excuses. No one does. After what has to be a minute or more of tense silence, Atobe gives an exasperated sigh and his arms drop to his sides.

"I'm calling a driver to take you all home," he says. "I'd appreciate it if you'd be so kind as to wait outside."

The request hasn't even completely sunk in for Oshitari, who is feeling quite numb by this point, when Hiyoshi, unexpectedly, laughs. Everyone stares at him as if he's just slapped Atobe in the face.

"I told you," he sneers, words directed at Oshitari but eyes fixed on Atobe. "The only things he cares about are tennis and making a good public appearance."

"Hiyoshi," Ootori says warningly, but Hiyoshi cuts him off.

"What?" He looks from teammate to teammate now, one at a time, appealing for support. "How can you deny it? When has he ever given you a reason to believe otherwise?"

Atobe's expression remains unchanged as he watches Hiyoshi, but Oshitari notices that the hands at his sides are a little shaky.

"I don't think even you'd deny it," Hiyoshi says, facing Atobe once again.

 _Say something_ , Oshitari thinks desperately. _Prove him wrong._

Atobe stays tight-lipped and silent.

"Che," Shishido grumbles, turning away from the group and wrenching open the door. "This is so lame." After a moment, Hiyoshi, and Gakuto follow him out.

"Yuushi?" Jirou hovers uncertainly between Oshitari, Ootori and Kabaji, fidgeting on his feet. Even he seems afraid to look at Atobe now.

"Why don't you wait outside, Jirou," Oshitari suggests. "I'll be down as soon as I've had a drink."

If Atobe is about to try and stop him, he loses nerve at the sight of Oshitari's face. Unable to stand being in this room anymore, Oshitari turns on his heel and marches all the way down to the dining room. He doesn't care that it's still full of guests who stare curiously as he pushes toward a waiter carrying a tray of drinks.

"Cheers," Oshitari says to the waiter, downing the contents of a champagne flute in one swallow. It tastes disgusting, but he pretends to be unfazed.

The waiter allows him to grab one more drink before he hightails it in the opposite direction. He's probably unsure if Oshitari is underage but doesn't want to risk losing his job by challenging him. Oshitari melts into a corner, glowering at anyone who meets his gaze and wishing he could suppress his gag reflex long enough to take another drink. A good five minutes pass this way, with Oshitari only occasionally daring to take a sip of the bitter champagne, when he feels a hand descend suddenly upon his shoulder.

"You grabbed the cheap stuff," Atobe says, delicately taking the flute out of Oshitari's hands and setting it on the tray of a passing waiter. "One of the first rules my father ever taught me: only the trashy guests choose the rosé."

Oshitari does what he considers an admirable job of covering up his shock, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and lifting an eyebrow in a manner that he hopes appears cool and collected. Atobe looks about ready to burst out laughing; clearly, he isn't fooled.

"Is that so," Oshitari says stiffly. "Well, by all means, have me escorted from the premises."

Atobe gives a little "hmph" and gestures at someone out of Oshitari's line of vision. In an instant, another waiter has appeared at his side, this one with a tray of pale gold champagne.

"Try this," Atobe says, handing one flute to Oshitari and taking a formidable swallow of his own.

"Aren't you afraid of your guests seeing you?" Oshitari asks. He hazards a sip of his own champagne – it is much better than the pink stuff – and continues to force an air of indifference.

Atobe laughs. "I don't know that there's a person here who has any idea how old I really am."

"Even your father?" Oshitari takes another sip. The champagne is tasting better by the second.

"Especially him." The statement could be loaded with self-pity, but it comes off as surprisingly casual. Still, he transitions into a new subject as quickly as possible. "Yuushi," he says slowly. "I have been . . . perhaps a little rude tonight."

Yuushi snorts. No amount of champagne in the world is enough for this conversation. "Go on," he says.

"Jirou spoke to me. About your . . . intentions in coming here." Oshitari has to bite his tongue to allow Atobe to continue uninterrupted, but he manages. "And Ootori told me about Hiyoshi."

"You know as well as I do how much Jirou exaggerates," Oshitari says, feeling his face grow warm. He can't say if it's embarrassment or the alcohol doing it.

Now it's Atobe's turn to snort. "Indeed," he says. He's about to say something else, but then his attention is diverted by something behind Oshitari. When he turns around, Oshitari spots the entire regulars team approaching, apparently being herded by Kabaji.

"I sincerely apologize," Atobe says once everyone is within earshot. To Oshitari's considerable surprise, he then bows, lower and with even more formality than when he was onstage. "My behavior tonight has been inexcusable." Straightening up, he smiles and adds, "I can't think of anything that brings me greater pleasure than having you all here."

The apology makes Oshitari feel stupidly pleased and sentimental. He takes a sip of champagne, hoping to conceal his smile, and waits for reactions from the other regulars. Jirou, of course, is positively glowing. Ootori, too, can only beam, and while Shishido looks as disdainful as usual, Oshitari can tell in the way he rolls his eyes that all has been forgiven. Kabaji, Oshitari suspects, was never on anyone's side but Atobe's from the beginning, so it's no surprise that his expression remains unchanged. Only Hiyoshi refuses to even lift his head, choosing instead to scowl at the floor.

Gakuto, losing patience, clucks his tongue and kicks Hiyoshi soundly in the back of the leg. "Stop being such a baby," he says when Hiyoshi glares over at him. "The sooner you guys kiss and make up, the sooner we can grab some of those desserts."

"You have every right to be displeased with me, Hiyoshi," Atobe says, just in time to prevent Hiyoshi from backhanding Gakuto, or worse. Hiyoshi looks up, a little reluctantly, and Atobe loops an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "However," Atobe continues with great solemnity, "keep in mind that I don't allow pouters on my team."

Hiyoshi shoves Atobe away viciously and resumes his glaring match with the floor, but just by the slope of his shoulders and the quirk of his mouth Oshitari can tell that most of his tension has drained. "Whatever," Hiyoshi mutters. "Can we have dessert now?"

"Certainly." Atobe straightens up, smiling in a way that suggests he's maybe a little too pleased with himself, and is about to lead the way across the room when a new figure appears in their midst, effectively silencing even Gakuto's ringing laughter.

"Keigo," says Atobe's father, his voice quiet and even but not friendly in the least. "Would you care to explain to me what, exactly, is going on here?"

Oshitari doesn't know if he's ever seen Atobe at such an obvious loss for words. His face has gone pale, maybe even a little yellow, and the champagne flute in his hand looks about ready to break.

"Atobe-san," Oshitari says quickly, to the shock of everyone assembled. "Please forgive us for the intrusion. It was all my –"

But Oshitari never has the chance to finish his explanation.

"Atobe-san," echoes the familiar voice of Sakaki, slinking from out of nowhere to appear at Atobe's father's side. "How good of you to host such a lovely event tonight." When no one immediately responds – even Atobe's father stares at Sakaki with unguarded surprise – he continues seamlessly, "I was so pleased to see you invited Keigo's friends and teammates as well. No guests could have been more appropriate for the occasion."

Oshitari tries to catch Atobe's attention, hoping to make some sense of this, but Atobe can't seem to tear his eyes away from Sakaki. The small circle of guests is almost unanimously slack-jawed, which Oshitari would probably find amusing if he weren't gaping as well.

"Of course," Atobe's father stammers, clearing his throat and regaining at least some composure. "I – it was my pleasure, naturally." Sakaki smiles, but not in a particularly friendly manner – if anything, he seems to be signaling Atobe-san that it's time to get lost. "If you'll excuse me," Atobe-san says at length, and he escapes into a nearby crowd of men in perfectly-tailored suits.

Atobe's mouth snaps shut as he watches his father's hasty retreat. The rest of the regulars don't seem to have yet figured out whether they should burst out laughing or find a safe place to hide.

"Gentlemen," says Sakaki, breaking the stunned silence. "I hope you're enjoying yourselves." When no one answers, Sakaki makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. Then he reaches across the circle to pluck the champagne flutes out of Atobe's and Oshitari's hands.

"Behave yourselves," he says as he turns away. "Oh, and Atobe?"

Atobe's head snaps to attention. The color, Oshitari notes, is quickly returning to his face.

"Yes?" Atobe manages.

"You had better damn well make certain this team wins nationals this year."

He's gone before Atobe – or anyone else – can work out a response. Oshitari wonders if it's his imagination that Sakaki takes a drink from one of the flutes as he goes.

"Uh," Jirou says after a beat. "Does Sakaki come to a lot of your parties, Kei-chan?"

Atobe closes his eyes and brings a hand to his forehead, looking for all the world as if he's about to faint. "He's a major investor in the company," he says weakly. "I've never been able to figure out what, exactly, he does, other than coach tennis and attend social events."

Oshitari doesn't know what horrifies him more – the number of frightening explanations for Sakaki's wealth that are suddenly running through his head, or the thought that their tennis coach now has collateral to use against them for the next two years at least.

"Let's –" Oshitari begins.

"Get out of here," Shishido finishes, already beginning to loosen his tie. "This is just getting creepy."

Everyone nods their solemn agreement. Even Atobe looks about ready to tear off his jacket and throw it on the floor.

"If we hurry," Oshitari says, consulting his wristwatch, "we could still make the late show."

Atobe blinks in some surprise, but everyone else, following Jirou's lead, cheers at the suggestion.

"We're going to look so stupid going to the movie theater like this," Hiyoshi complains, but he's nevertheless the first one out the dining room doors.

"Aren't you worried you'll get in trouble for skipping out early?" Oshitari asks, falling into step beside Atobe as they make their way toward the car dock.

Atobe only rolls his eyes. "I could care less," he says, causing Oshitari to grin. "Unless you'd rather stay, that is." He smirks and cuts his eyes sideways at Oshitari.

"Only if you'd care to dance." Oshitari extends a hand in a gesture of mock-chivalry, and Atobe turns away quickly, scoffing and going a brilliant shade of red.

"Don't be ridiculous," he says.

Oshitari isn't discouraged, however, even as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and chuckles to himself. The night has already proved itself one to remember, to be sure. And so long as he ushers them all into the latest slasher flick and gets a seat next to Atobe, he figures, the memories can only improve.

_end_


End file.
